Hide and Seek
by Marianna Morgan
Summary: Pre-Series – Kidnapped/Injured Sam / Big Brother Dean – Dean didn't panic. Not at first. Not until he realized Sam wasn't just hiding or playing a prank. The kid was gone.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: Pre-Series – Kidnapped/Injured Sam / Big Brother Dean – Dean didn't panic. Not at first. Not until he realized Sam wasn't just hiding or playing a prank. The kid was _gone_.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine

**Warnings**: Usual language

**A/N**: A one-shot that turned into a three-shot...and thankfully is not based on a true personal story. I'm often afraid to go to Walmart, but this is not why.

* * *

_If you get lost, you can always be found. ~ Phillip Phillips _

* * *

Dean didn't panic.

Not at first.

In fact the first emotion Dean felt when he turned the corner of the aisle and found it empty – discovering Sam was not where the 12-year old was supposed to be – was annoyance...quickly followed by that strange mix of pissed and worried.

Because Sam knew better than to wander around the store without letting Dean know where he was; especially a store as big and sprawling as Walmart.

Dean snorted.

Well, not just Walmart; _Super_ Walmart, like the store demanded superhero status for having absolutely everything you could possibly want all in one place at one low price for your shopping convenience.

Dean sighed and shook his head; still standing at the end of the aisle and freshly hating being sent on supply runs.

"We passed a Walmart on the way in..." John had commented as he had stood between the two beds. "While I'm gone, I need you to pick up a few things. More salt, spray paint, candles, rope, gun oil..." his voice had faded as he had paused in packing his duffel and had stared at his oldest as Dean had sat in one of the chairs at the small table in the motel room's corner.

Dean had arched an eyebrow at his dad. "What?"

"You getting this?" John had asked; his tone annoyed at the realization that Dean had not been writing anything down on the motel stationery in front of him.

Dean had nodded, smiling. "It's all up here," he had cheekily told John and had pointed to his head; tapping the side of his forehead with the pen he had held.

Sam had snorted, laughing at Dean's response from where he had been sprawled on his stomach on the bed farthest from the door; his textbook and notebook both open on the mattress as he had completed his homework.

John had rolled his eyes and had resumed packing. "Also check first aid supplies and staple food supplies and – "

" – Dad..." Dean had interrupted; had tried not to look as bored as he had felt; expertly flipping the pen between his fingers. "I know the drill," he had informed with all the cockiness of a 17-year old. "I've been on supply runs before."

John had zipped his duffel. "Good," he had praised dryly. "In that case, I don't expect you to forget anything."

There had been a beat of uncomfortable silence.

Dean had squirmed in his seat at the indirect reprimand; remembering all too well the last time he had been sent on a supply run – and had not taken a list – and had returned without three of the items John had requested.

John had stared at Dean meaningfully. "We clear?"

Dean had nodded; hating when his dad could still make him feel like he was five-years old. "Yes, sir."

"Good," John had replied and then had turned to the opposite bed. "Sam..."

Sam had glanced up expectantly.

"I want that Latin translated when I get back," John had ordered, pointing at the old book resting on top of the dresser. "You can't learn a language if you don't work at it every day," he had reminded; his tone firm.

Sam had nodded and had sighed as he had glanced in the direction of the Latin text they had borrowed from Bobby Singer the last time they had stopped by the older hunter's house.

"Sam..." John had prompted, still staring down at his son; wanting verbal confirmation that Sam had heard him and had understood what was expected.

Sam had glanced back at his dad, nodding again. "Yes, sir."

John had returned the nod and then had half-smiled. "Be good," he had told his youngest, sounding like any other dad departing on a trip. "And mind your brother."

Sam had nodded once more at the familiar order and had smiled up at John as his dad had roughly tousled his floppy hair; recognizing the gesture as the affection it was.

John had winked at his 12-year old before tossing his duffel over his shoulder and turning to face his oldest. "Dean..."

Dean had stood from where he had been sitting at the table; crossing to John and nodding his understanding of everything contained in that one word – reminders about security and vigilance; about following orders and fulfilling expectations; about maintaining secrecy and self-reliance; and most importantly...

"Watch out for Sammy," John had instructed quietly and then had glanced over his shoulder at their youngest as Sam had once again become immersed in his homework.

Dean had nodded; wondering if John really thought it was necessary to say that every time he left them alone; hoping their dad knew by now that Sam was always his top priority...whether John was in town or not.

Dean had sighed. "Yes, sir," he had said anyway because he had known that was what John had expected.

John had nodded his approval and had squeezed Dean's shoulder before patting his oldest on the back and crossing to the motel room's door.

Dean had smiled – recognizing the rough affection just as Sam had done – and had followed behind John.

"Bobby thinks we're dealing with a shifter, so this hunt shouldn't take but a couple of days," John had commented as he had exited their room with his duffel slung over his shoulder. "I'll call with coordinates for you boys to meet up with me later."

Dean had watched John cross to his truck. "Yes, sir," he had replied, knowing the drill.

John had nodded as he had opened the driver's side door; tossing his duffel into the cab of his truck before pinning Dean with a hard stare as his oldest had continued to stand in the motel room's doorway.

"Don't let your guard down, Dean," John had reminded. "The supernatural is everywhere. Stay sharp. Keep an eye on Sam."

Dean had scowled; understanding the danger that constantly lurked but hating when John was so paranoid...and when their dad treated him like he had never taken care of Sam before.

"Dean..."

"Yeah, Dad," Dean had agreed about his duties and had nodded. "You know I got this."

John had nodded as well; not saying another word as he had climbed into his truck and had left the parking lot; the red taillights glowing in the distance and then disappearing from view.

Dean had sighed; closing the motel room door and turning to face his brother. "Well..." he had begun. "Just you and me again, kiddo."

"Mmhmm," Sam had replied distractedly; his chin resting on the backs of his clasped hands as he had continued to lie on the bed and read.

Dean had glanced at the clock on the bedside table and then back at Sam. "Hungry?"

Sam had shrugged. "Not really."

Dean had snorted at the expected response. "Well, I am," he had informed and had closed Sam's book on his way to the bathroom.

Sam had made a sound of surprise and annoyance. "Dean..."

Dean had chuckled. "Relax, Francis. You can finish when we get back."

Sam had scowled as Dean had closed the door; tearing a sheet of paper from his notebook and folding it while waiting for his brother to finish his business.

"Where are we going?" Sam had asked as soon as Dean had emerged from the bathroom.

"To the diner down the road and then to Walmart," Dean had answered and had motioned for his brother to sit up. "Let's go. Put your shoes on."

Sam had groaned his displeasure but had done as he was told; sitting up on the side of the bed and putting on his sneakers. "I'm not hungry," he had complained as he had tied his laces. "Why can't I just stay here?"

"Don't start," Dean had warned, double-checking his weapons – gun in the waistband of his jeans, silver knife tucked in his boot – and had grabbed his leather jacket, putting it on. "It's time to eat, so you're eating. And you know you're not staying here by yourself. Dad would crawl my ass..."

Sam had rolled his eyes and had stood; stuffing the folded paper in the pocket of his jeans and following Dean out the motel room door. "I'm not a baby," he had grumpily reminded.

"You'll always be _our_ baby, Sammy..." Dean had sweetly returned – only half joking – and had slung his arm around his brother's narrow shoulders as they had crossed to the Impala.

Sam had rolled his eyes again. "Oh my god..." he had moaned in typical 12-year old fashion. "Shut up," he had growled and had shoved Dean away even as he had quirked a smile.

Dean had chuckled and had flipped the hood of Sam's hoodie over the kid's head.

"Dean..." Sam had snapped – his voice high-pitched in complaint – and had quickly swiped the hood from his head. "Stop!"

Dean had chuckled again as Sam had used his hands to brush his hair back in place. "Your hair looks great, Samantha."

Sam had glared. "Shut up."

"You shut up," Dean had returned as they both had slid into their respective places on the Impala's bench seat; a companionable silence settling between them as they had set off on their adventure – dinner and Walmart.

Good times were sure to be had by all.

And that had been true.

The diner had been surprisingly clean; the food had been good and hot; and Sam had actually cleaned his plate without having to be threatened to do so.

When the brothers had arrived at Walmart, they had both been pleasantly surprised by the lack of people.

"Wow..." Dean had remarked at the relatively empty lot as he had steered the Impala into a parking space near the store's entrance. "This is creepy."

Sam had laughed. "Maybe it's just our lucky day."

Dean had snorted – thinking his idea of a lucky day would include not having to come to Walmart at all – and then had exited the car; arching an eyebrow when Sam came around the trunk unfolding a sheet of paper.

"It's the list," Sam had explained.

Dean had frowned. "What list?" He had paused. "Wait...Dad's list?"

Sam had nodded; holding the paper against his chest and rubbing his hand over the back of it in an attempt to further smooth out the wrinkles. "If we forget something, you might get in trouble again. So..."

Dean had smiled as Sam had shrugged the rest of his explanation; strangely touched – but not surprised – that his little brother would do that; would write down John's list in an attempt to help keep Dean on their dad's good side; and that even though John had made Dean responsible for completing the supply run, Sam had considered it his responsibility, too.

If _we_ forget something...

Dean had smiled. "Thanks, Sammy," he had told his brother and had briefly squeezed the kid's shoulder; affection and appreciation in one gesture. "Although I totally had it all up here..."

Sam had rolled his eyes as Dean had once again pointed to his head while they had crossed the parking lot. "Whatever."

Dean had laughed.

"Good evening," a balding elderly man in a blue vest had greeted as the brothers had entered the store. "Welcome to Walmart."

"Thanks," Dean had drawled. "We're thrilled to be here."

The elderly man had chuckled as he had perched on his stool by the door and had adjusted his eyeglasses. "Trust me, son. No more thrilled than I am," he had assured dryly and then had winked good-naturedly.

Dean had grinned at the Walmart Greeter – having always liked spunky old people – and had grabbed a shopping cart from where they were lined up at the store's entrance.

"Alright, Sammy..." Dean had called to his brother as Sam had fallen in beside him. "Let's do this, List Master."

Sam had smiled at his title and had nodded his agreement about completing their task; glancing down at their list as the brothers had started cruising the aisles; systematically picking up everything they needed and making record time in finishing their supply run.

"Dude..." Dean had commented about how quickly they were moving through their list and had dumped an armful of black spray paint cans into their shopping cart. "At this rate, we'll be home in time to see _The Simpsons_."

Sam had wrinkled his nose at his brother's taste in television shows and had deposited his armful of red spray paint cans in the cart behind Dean. "Oh, boy."

Dean had scowled at his brother's dry response. "Hey. Don't judge me. Quality programming is in the eye of the beholder."

Sam had laughed. "Obviously..." he had agreed as he had walked beside Dean. "'Cause that show sucks. It's stupid."

Dean's eyes had widened. "Silence, blasphemer!" he had ordered; nudging his brother with the end of the shopping cart as they had turned the corner of the aisle.

Sam had laughed again, sidestepping the cart, and then had suddenly stopped; staring down the aisle of school supplies.

Dean had stopped as well, arching an eyebrow. "Something you need?"

Sam had nodded. "Highlighters. I'm almost out..."

"Oh my god..." Dean had commented and had shaken his head. "Sam. You can't keep hoarding highlighters. It's not healthy."

Sam had rolled his eyes. "I'm not hoarding them, Dean. I just use a lot of 'em. They help me study."

Dean had looked doubtful. "Yeah. Sure. But I'm still scheduling an intervention. Enough is enough, Sammy."

Sam had laughed. "Shut up," he had replied and then had glanced down the aisle and back at Dean. "Can I get some? Please?"

There had been a beat of silence.

"I'm such an enabler," Dean had lamented and then had shaken his head at himself; quirking a smile at his brother. "But sure. Get your precious highlighters."

Sam had beamed. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean had nodded; strangely sad that Sam got so excited over something as simple as new school supplies.

"You can keep going," Sam had told his brother and had handed over the list he had been carrying. "I'll catch up."

Dean had frowned as Sam had shoved the wrinkled paper into his hand; knowing that his brother was 12-years old and would be a teenager in a few months...but still feeling uneasy about letting the kid out of his sight, even if the store wasn't that crowded and even if he would only be a couple aisles away.

Sam had sighed at his brother's hesitation. "Dean..."

"I know," Dean had responded; because he had known Sam's familiar argument. "You're a big boy now and can be left by yourself." He had paused. "Good for you. We're all very proud."

Sam had glared. "Dean..."

Dean had sighed at his brother's insistence.

"Please?" Sam had added to the big-eyed expression he had turned on his brother. "It's not a big deal."

Dean had sighed again; because in their family, it kind of _was_ a big deal to leave Sam by himself.

But...

"Fine," Dean had reluctantly agreed. "I'll go check out the first aid supplies. But when I come back, your scrawny ass better be _right _here. You hear me?"

Sam had nodded; his expression serious...because he had known Dean wasn't playing.

"I will be," Sam had assured his brother. "I promise."

Dean had held Sam's gaze and then had nodded as well. "Good," he had replied. "And be careful," he had added as he had pushed the shopping cart in the opposite direction of where he was leaving his little brother.

"I will," Sam had responded and had walked further down the aisle in search of his highlighters.

Dean had watched him go – still hesitant to leave the kid by himself...especially after John's earlier reminder about watching the kid – but then had set off on his own mission to restock their first aid supplies...because Sam would be fine.

But that had been ten minutes ago.

And now that Dean's mission was complete and he was back at the school supplies aisle, Sam was nowhere in sight.

Dean narrowed his eyes as if he expected this to be a prank; as if his runt of a little brother was somehow hiding in the backpacks hanging up at the far end of the aisle and would jump out at him any second; the kid ridiculously pleased with himself for fooling Dean.

And if that was true, Dean was going to kick Sam's scrawny ass.

Because this shit wasn't funny.

Dean sighed; leaving the list and the shopping cart as he cautiously walked down the aisle. "Sam..." he called; his eyes scanning for any signs of movement to indicate a hiding little brother.

But there were no such signs.

And there was no little brother.

Dean swallowed; always intrigued that panic had a metallic taste. "Sam..." he called again and then blinked when he saw it – a four-pack of yellow highlighters in the middle of the aisle...like they had been dropped.

Dean felt his heart begin to beat faster; not liking how this scene was suddenly adding up as he bent to retrieve the highlighters; their plastic packaging crinkling in his grasp.

Dean remained crouched – his eyes surveying the aisle on a different level – and noticed black scuff marks on the dingy tiled floor...scuff marks that implied some sort of struggle...and scuff marks that would not have been made by Sam's sneakers.

Dean swallowed again, trying to remain calm; reminding himself those scuff marks could have been old...but knowing they weren't.

Instinct told him that whoever's boots had left those marks on the floor was also the person who had his kid brother.

And since Sam would never willingly go with a stranger, that meant Sam had been forcibly taken.

"Damn it..." Dean murmured, feeling his heart hammer in his chest as he stood; straightening to his full height as he gave another once-over to the school supplies aisle – seeing nothing – and then directed his attention beyond the aisle...where he saw something else lying in the middle of the floor.

Dean tossed the highlighters back on the shelf and walked in the direction of the new item – leaving their shopping cart behind because there were more important things to deal with now...like a missing little brother – and crouched again; picking up the decorative dishtowel that had apparently been knocked off the aisle's end-cap display.

Dean noticed more black scuff marks on the floor as well; like Sam had gone with whoever had approached him but had continued to physically struggle against the person.

Dean clenched his jaw in angry frustration.

Because he had only been a few aisles away...so why had he not heard this altercation? Why had he not sensed Sam was in danger? And why hadn't Sam called out to him?

Dean shook his head; shoving the dishtowel back onto the display and then looking further down the aisle...and noticing yet another item; like Sam had been leaving a trail as the person had led him away from the school supplies.

Dean felt a brief surge of relief. "Atta boy, Sammy..." he praised his brother; proud the kid was apparently keeping calm and using his training; his brother marking the kidnapper's escape route by knocking products off their shelves as he had passed by them on each aisle's end-cap.

Dean followed the trail; no longer picking up the items as he went but feeling the sense of urgency increase as the items occurred less frequently – like maybe the kidnapper had realized what Sam was doing as they had approached the back of the store; the kid's actions having purpose beyond just trying to get away.

The black scuff marks continued to periodically streak the floor – indicating Sam had continued to struggle – and Dean suddenly wished the store had been crowded; that someone had been around to see what had happened to his brother.

_That's_ your _job. _

Dean blinked at the sudden sound of John's voice in his head.

You_ are supposed to watch out for Sammy. Nobody else._

Dean clenched his jaw as his dad's voice continued to lecture and berate him; because he already felt like a shitty big brother without having John's voice in his head confirming he had failed in his responsibility to take care of Sam.

Dean sighed and shook his head; his eyes scanning for the next clue his brother had left him...and then realized why the clues were becoming harder to find – because one of the store's employees was actually doing her job and placing the items back on the shelves while another man nearby was mopping the floor.

Both of which made Sam's trail suddenly turn ice cold.

"Shit..." Dean hissed at the realization and immediately stopped walking; his gaze turning left, then right as he stood in the middle of two sections of the store and tried to figure out which way to go.

Because there was no indication; no strewn items, no black scuff marks.

The middle-aged woman in the blue Walmart vest smiled pleasantly as she noticed Dean standing nearby. "Hi, there..." she called. "You look confused. Can I help you find something?"

"Yeah. My brother..." Dean responded bluntly before he could stop himself.

The male employee standing beside the woman laughed as he swung his mop back and forth over the tile. "Gave you the slip again, huh?"

Dean arched an eyebrow. "Again?"

The woman laughed as well. "We saw the two of you earlier," she explained. "Your brother's a cute little fella...even if he was giving you a fit."

Dean shook his head; not following the conversation. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know..." the woman replied good-naturedly. "He was just being a kid...squirming in your grasp and dragging his feet." She smiled. "I remember those days. My kids used to hate shopping, too." She paused, slightly frowning. "Although I would never have put up with them knocking stuff off of shelves like he was doing," she commented. "Your brother's a little too old to be throwing those kinds of tantrums. And maybe it's not your place to discipline him, but you make sure to tell your parents when you get home."

Dean stared at her; suddenly realizing this woman and the man beside her had seen Sam with his kidnapper.

The man glanced around the aisle and then back at Dean. "I guess if you're asking us where your brother is, that means the kid broke out of that death grip you had on him."

Dean felt his stomach clench at the fresh reminder of some stranger manhandling his brother.

"Poor kid," the man continued and chuckled. "He kept squirming as you drug him down the aisle and looked back at us with those big eyes like he was scared...like he thought you were gonna do something to him."

Dean's stomach clenched even tighter.

The man chuckled again and shook his head. "Little brothers, huh? Nothin' like 'em..."

Dean felt his heart pound in his chest; because the man was right – there was nothing like little brothers...and right now, Dean's little brother was fucking missing.

"Listen..." Dean began; his hard tone matching his expression as he drew closer to the employees in the middle of the aisle. "I'm not sure who you saw with my brother earlier, but it wasn't me."

The man arched an eyebrow; but if he felt threatened by Dean's tone or proximity, he didn't otherwise show it.

"Do you have a twin?" the woman asked seriously, tilting her head. "Because the guy with your brother looked _just _like you. It was quite remarkable."

"It wasn't me," Dean repeated more insistently. "And I don't have a twin."

"Ha!" the man laughed and shook his head like he didn't believe what Dean was saying. "Yeah, right."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I know how twins are," the man replied, continuing to mop the floor. "My sister's got twin boys, and they're always trying to trick people. So, I know what you boys are up to now..."

The woman frowned; her gaze flickering between her fellow employee and Dean. "Is that true?"

Dean shook his head. "No."

The woman stared at him. "Well, you must have a twin _somewhere_ in the world," she asserted. "'Cause the guy with your brother looked _just_ like you..."

"Sure he did," the man agreed. "'Cause they're _twins_. They're just screwin' with us. The other twin is probably with their little brother now laughing their asses off," he commented and looked around the aisle as if he expected to see spying children.

Dean narrowed his eyes; quickly losing patience with the two employees in front of him.

Yet he couldn't help but wonder if what they were saying was true – did he and Sam's kidnapper look _that_ similar?

The thought was disturbing.

...especially since John had left only a few hours ago to hunt a shifter a few towns over.

Dean swallowed at the possible implications; that the shifter had arrived in _this_ town instead...and had taken Sam.

The two occurrences were probably not coincidences.

...which meant this situation just went to a whole new level of fucked.

Dean sighed. "Listen..." he growled; because he really didn't have time to go back-and-forth with the two employees. "Believe what you want to believe. Just tell me which way they were heading..."

"Oh sure, hon. That way..." the woman told him, pointing to the right. "But if you're being honest and your brother really is missing, maybe you should check the toys first. Sometimes kids can be found there when they've run off."

"My brother didn't 'run off'," Dean corrected her; knowing even if the kid had run off, he wouldn't be hiding out in the toy section of the store.

The woman stared at him as the man continued to mop.

Dean sighed and then turned away from the employees. "Thanks," he called over his shoulder – _for nothing_ – and began walking down the aisles again; his eyes scanning for any sign of his brother...or for a guy that looked like himself.

...which was going to be freaky as hell if it was true – to see yourself outside of yourself.

The thought made Dean's stomach twist into an even tighter knot; the thought that some supernatural creature had used his likeness to get close to Sam and then snatch the kid.

Dean sighed – trying not to think about it – and continued searching the store; up and down the aisles as his mind still buzzed with possibilities; being so distracted that he ran into whoever was rounding the corner on the opposite end of the aisle.

"Whoa, son..." the elderly man warned, holding his arms out in a protective stance.

"Sorry," Dean automatically apologized and then blinked when he realized who was standing in front of him. "Aren't you the Walmart Greeter?"

The man snorted. "I prefer to be called Carl," he informed with a chuckle and tapped the nametag pinned to his blue vest. He paused, staring at Dean. "You're the kid with that other kid...the scrawny little guy with the floppy hair."

Dean arched an eyebrow; surprised – and a little unnerved – that everyone in this store seemed to know him and his brother.

Carl chuckled again. "Relax," he advised. "I'm the first line of defense for this place. People think I'm just there to greet them at the door, but that's just scratchin' the surface. It's part of my job to remember faces and to be able to recall who came in together in case there's shoplifting or something like that."

Dean sighed, not interested in this man's job description; but if Carl prided himself on being so observant...

"Have you seen my brother?"

Carl shook his head. "Not since the two of you came in the store earlier. Why? Did you lose him?"

Dean glared. "No."

Carl glanced around the aisle. "Well, he's not here."

"I know that," Dean snapped and then narrowed his eyes at Carl; because as long as Sam was missing, everyone was a suspect. "What are _you_ doing here? Why are you at the back of the store? I thought your job was up front."

"It is," Carl agreed. "But my shift is over, and I was headed to the break room to clock out."

Dean nodded; because he guessed that made sense.

"Shouldn't you be heading home, too?" Carl asked in return. "After all, it's a school night..."

"Yeah," Dean answered distractedly; looking beyond Carl. "I just – "

" – have to find your brother," Carl finished and nodded knowingly when Dean's attention flickered back to him. "I can see the panic in your eyes, son," he explained and then paused. "Where did you see him last?"

Dean stared at Carl; hesitant to share details about Sam but realizing he needed help if he was going to find his brother. "School supplies. I left him there maybe ten minutes...and then when I came back..."

Carl nodded, not needing Dean to explain further. "It doesn't take long for sick bastards to snatch children and then do god-knows-what to them for their own kicks," he commented and shook his head in disgust.

Dean seemed to pale at that reminder.

"Sorry," Carl apologized at Dean's expression. "I know you probably didn't need to hear that. But I'm just saying...we need to find your brother before something else happens to him."

Dean nodded; already knowing that. "I've searched the entire store at least twice."

Carl nodded. "Well, the only way we're gonna know for sure what happened to the kid is if we review the security tapes." He pointed to the ceiling. "After all, Big Brother's always watching."

Dean looked up as well and snorted disgustedly at the irony – because if he had fulfilled his role as a big brother and had been watching Sam, none of this would've happened.

"Can't think like that," Carl advised, seeming to read Dean's thoughts. "What's done is done. And although it sucks, we gotta deal with what we got." He paused. "And it sounds like what we got is a missing kid."

Dean nodded; strangely calmed by the old man standing in front of him and feeling a connection. "So how do we access the security tapes?"

"Easy," Carl replied. "My son works security here...and his girlfriend is the manager."

"Nice," Dean praised; pleased that at least something seemed to be finally going right in this situation.

Because if whoever took Sam was indeed a shifter, the camera would show it – that classic retinal flare in a shifter's eyes when caught on film – and Dean would know what he was up against; would know how to track it and kill it and get his brother back.

But if it was human...

Dean sighed; finding that he actually hoped a shifter had taken Sam rather than a person.

Because supernatural creatures were predictable if you knew which kind you were dealing with; but people...they were fucking crazy.

Dean sighed again and glanced at Carl. "Let's go find your son, so we can see those security tapes."

* * *

_**TBC**_


	2. Chapter 2

Carl nodded his approval at Dean's interest in viewing the store's security footage and turned to lead the way to the front of the store when he stopped, staring down the aisle.

"Hey, wait. There's Harold now..." Carl commented and then called Harold's name before glancing at Dean. "That's my son."

Dean nodded as he watched a tall, lanky guy with glasses and dark hair approach; seeing the favor immediately between father and son; that Carl probably looked a lot like Harold when he was a younger man.

"Dad..." Harold began, approaching Carl. "How many times do I have to tell you? When we're at work, you call me 'Officer Brooks'."

Carl snorted. "Yeah. Like that's gonna happen..." He laughed at the thought. "Listen, this is..." He glanced at Dean expectantly.

"Dean."

Carl nodded. "This is Dean, and his brother is missing. So we were – "

" – did you check the toys section?" Harold interrupted, staring at Dean.

"He's not there," Dean replied dryly; hating that he kept being asked that.

"...which is why we were on our way to see you," Carl further explained. "We need to check the security tapes. Dean thinks his brother may have been taken."

Harold blinked in surprise. "Like kidnapped?"

Dean swallowed at that term being used to describe Sam. "Yeah."

...or shifter-napped – but that was just for Dean's knowledge right now.

It wasn't like anyone else would understand or believe him anyway.

"Really?" Harold asked, still sounding shocked. "Wow. How long ago?"

Dean checked his watch. "Maybe 20 minutes."

"Which section of the store?"

"School supplies."

Harold nodded. "And where were you?"

Dean arched an eyebrow; that kind of question making him wonder if Harold knew John. "I was only a couple aisles over."

"And you didn't hear anything or see anything? Your brother didn't call out for you?"

Dean glared at Harold's continued interrogation. "No."

"Huh," Harold mused; staring at Dean like maybe he suspected Dean was involved in his brother's disappearance. "Interesting." He glanced at Carl. "Did you see anything up front?"

"No," Carl answered, shaking his head. "No one left with the kid, unless they did so in the past five minutes when I went to the break room to clock out."

"That's why I want to check the security footage," Dean explained impatiently; tired of talking and ready to _do_ something.

"Absolutely," Harold replied and turned. "Follow me."

Carl nodded and motioned for Dean to come with them as they walked up the aisle, heading toward the front of the store.

"Where's your girlfriend?" Carl asked his son as they walked.

Harold sighed heavily. "_Ex_-girlfriend, Dad. We broke up, like, three months ago."

"Eh," Carl dismissed. "Just a lover's quarrel. You two will get back together eventually."

Harold snorted his doubt.

"Where is she?" Carl pressed.

Harold shrugged. "In her office, I guess."

"Good," Carl replied. "Call her. She's the store manager, so she needs to know what's going on. Plus, she might want to watch the tapes with us. Unless Dean minds..."

Dean shook his head; not caring who else watched the security tapes as long as the footage showed what had happened to his brother...and how he could get the kid back.

Because going home without Sam was _not _an option.

"Good," Carl praised for Dean's permission to allow the store's manager to join them and then glanced at Harold. "Call her."

Harold sighed. "Dad..."

"Either you call her...or I will," Carl threatened and pointed to the walkie-talkie radio he had hooked to his own belt.

Harold glared. "You're a pain in my ass, old man..." he groused good-naturedly but nodded his agreement with Carl's order before reaching for his own radio. "Hey, Stace..."

A woman's voice almost immediately answered. "Harold. We broke up three months ago. You no longer get to call me 'Stace'. And if you don't stop calling me that at work, I swear I'm gonna – "

" – yeah," Harold interrupted flatly; his tone indicating his lack of fear about her threat and implying she had as much chance of him not calling her Stace as he did of Carl calling him Officer Brooks. "Listen, we got a possible kidnapping. Me and Dad are heading up front to review security tapes. Didn't know if you wanted to join us..."

The woman gasped on the opposite end of the radio. "Oh my god. Are you serious?"

"Yeah. 'Fraid so," Harold answered. "The kid's brother is with us. We'll be in the security office."

"A kid?" the woman echoed and then sighed. "Damn," she swore and then sighed again. "We have to find him before it's too late. You hear me?" she asked rhetorically and then the radio was quiet.

There was a beat of silence.

"Don't worry," Harold said over his shoulder to Dean. "We'll find your brother."

"Damn right," Dean responded heartily; his jaw clenching in determination.

Because Sam was _his_ – and he was getting the kid back...with or without these people's help.

Carl smiled at Dean as they walked – approving of his grit – and motioned to the left as they approached the front of the store.

Dean nodded and walked in that direction.

Seconds later, all three were entering the security office.

A tall brunette stood as they appeared in the doorway.

"What the hell?" she demanded as soon as she saw Harold. "What kind of security do we have if a kid gets snatched in the middle of the fucking store? What if something else happens to him? What if the sicko who took him hurts him or kills him? What if all of this makes the News? What if somebody at Corporate hears about this? I am _not_ losing my job just because you suck at yours!"

Harold blinked; unfazed by the woman's ranting. "Stace..." he began. "Calm down. Jesus..." He sighed. "Nothing has happened yet. The kid is just missing right now." He paused and then pointed at Dean over his shoulder. "This is Dean...the kid's brother."

Stacey seemed to immediately deflate at the sight of Dean. "Oh." She smiled nervously. "I didn't know he was coming..."

Harold frowned. "I told you on the radio."

Stacey shrugged. "Guess I missed that part." She smiled again at Dean. "Sorry 'bout all that..." she apologized, waving her hand in the air to indicate her rant.

Dean ignored her; because he only had one objective for being in that office with strangers. "The tapes?" he asked Harold.

Harold nodded. "You said your brother was last seen in school supplies, right?" he checked, crossing to the row of television monitors and recording equipment on the far wall.

"Right," Dean confirmed. "About half an hour ago now..."

"Got it," Harold answered and began rewinding one of the video tapes. "Just gimme a sec..."

"Make it quick, Harold," Carl sharply advised as he took a seat. "A kid's life could be on the line here."

Dean swallowed; not needing that constant reminder.

"It's gonna be okay," Stacey soothed and smiled tightly at Dean; clearly trying to make amends for her earlier outburst. "I'm so sorry this happened." She paused. "What's your brother's name?"

"Sam," Dean responded and shook his head as Stacey offered him one of the chairs in the cramped office. "I'll stand."

Stacey nodded; seeming to understand there was no way Dean could sit still while his brother was missing. "How old is Sam?"

"Twelve."

Stacey nodded. "He looked younger..." she murmured to herself; her gaze momentarily distant as if she was picturing the kid in her mind.

Dean arched a suspicious eyebrow; immediately on alert. "What did you just say?"

Stacey blinked. "Oh, nothing. Just thinking..." She smiled. "You're _sure_ he's not in the store? You've looked everywhere?" she pressed, redirecting the conversation as she sat in the chair she had offered to Dean.

Dean narrowed his eyes; because he knew what he had heard...which implied this woman knew something about Sam.

"Are you sure?" Stacey repeated, still asking about whether Dean had searched the store for his brother prior to seeking their help.

"I'm sure," Dean replied; feeling slightly irritated...and overwhelmingly suspicious at being asked so many questions; like this woman had her own agenda.

"Kids sometimes wander around the store," Stacey commented. "Happens all the time..."

"Sam wouldn't just wander around," Dean defended sharply. "He knows better than that."

Stacey nodded. "I'm sure he does," she replied. "Were there signs of a struggle in the aisle where you left him? Maybe a dropped item...or something like that?"

Dean said nothing as he stared at the woman sitting beside Carl; wondering if she knew that her questions – along with her overly casual manner, overly concerned tone, and obviously fake smile – were making her Suspect #1 in his book.

"Well, if he did try to leave a sign or a trail, I would say your brother's one smart kid," Carl praised, glancing at Dean. "Sounds like Sam has had some good training about what to do in an emergency."

Dean nodded but offered no further explanation; because while he appreciated these people's help, they were still strangers and didn't need to know too many details about him or his brother...especially since he sensed an enemy among them.

"Speaking of an emergency, should we call your parents?" Stacey asked and pointed at the phone on the table across the office. "Maybe your dad?"

It did not escape Dean that Stacey only mentioned his dad, not his mom...which implied she knew his mom wasn't around anymore to call.

"No," Dean responded but glanced in the direction Stacey pointed; noticing the container sitting beside the phone with pens, pencils, scissors...and a letter opener. "I just want to find Sam right now," he told the store's manager and wondered if the blade of that letter opener was silver.

Because although Dean had his silver knife – could feel its blade pressing against his skin as it was hidden in his boot – he wouldn't mind having another backup weapon that would be useful against a shifter.

Dean felt Stacey staring at him and turned his attention to her.

She smiled pleasantly.

Dean smiled in returned, though his instincts sensed she was indeed the shifter...and that she knew he was a hunter.

Hence this cat-and-mouse game of Q&A...

"Alright, here we go..." Harold announced, grabbing the remote and stepping out of the way for the others to view the center television screen.

Dean focused straight head; staring at the black-and-white image of himself and Sam as they stood at the end of the aisle; remembering their banter about those stupid highlighters.

"That's you and him, right?" Harold checked.

Dean nodded; continuing to watch the screen as Sam walked away from him; wishing he could get that moment back...because he would never have left the kid by himself; would've waited for Sam before going to the next aisle.

But...there Dean went; fading off the screen as Sam remained in the frame; wandering further down the aisle and reaching for the pack of highlighters he wanted.

"Cute kid," Stacey commented.

No one answered.

But Dean cut his eyes at her; his senses – both as a hunter and as a big brother – continuing to go haywire; signaling a potential threat and wanting to stab this bitch in the chest right then and there.

Because Stacey – if she was even really Stacey...which Dean doubted more with each passing second – seemed especially interested in Sam; asking questions that her tone and expression indicated she already knew the answers to...and was just testing the proverbial waters with Dean.

And Dean was sick of playing the game.

He wanted his brother back, and he wanted the kid back _right fucking now_.

Dean glanced again at the letter opener on the side table and then back at the television screen; his brother still standing in the aisle holding his highlighters and then looking to his left at someone they couldn't yet see.

But Sam didn't seem startled or afraid by whoever was off screen.

Instead, the kid was actually smiling and took a step toward the person.

Dean frowned; because Sam knew better than to approach strangers.

Unless, of course, the stranger didn't look like a stranger.

Dean swallowed, remembering what the two employees had told him earlier about the guy they had seen with Sam, and then received visual confirmation for himself as the person appeared on the television screen.

"Whoa..." Harold commented as someone appearing to be Dean came into the frame. "Dude...that's _you_." He frowned and pinned Dean with a hard stare. "What the hell? Is this a game to you – to make a bogus claim about your brother being missing? Like we don't have anything else to do than to spend our time investigating a hoax? Like we don't – "

" – that's not me," Dean snapped, ending Harold's rant but remaining focused on the screen; his heart beating faster as the tell-tale retinal flare flashed in the shifter's eyes, confirming his suspicions about Sam's kidnapper.

"Sure looks like you..." Carl commented, sounding confused.

"Damn right it does," Harold agreed; his tone sharp.

"Well, it's not..." Dean replied distractedly – wondering if they were blind to the obvious glowing eyes caused by the retinal flare – and came closer to the screen as he watched his brother continue to smile and show the highlighters to the shifter disguised as him.

But then Sam paused; tilting his head as his expression suddenly changed from happy...to confused...to startled...to scared.

Dean clenched his jaw as Sam began to shake his head in denial and rejection – somehow recognizing whoever coming toward him was not his big brother – and then took a step away from the approaching shifter.

Dean's hands curled into fists as he watched the shifter lunge toward Sam and roughly pull the kid back; the highlighters dropping to the floor with the quick motion as Sam's arms were pinned to his sides and his head was jerked back by his hair; the shifter holding the kid against himself as he said something to Sam.

Sam struggled and opened his mouth as though he was going to call out – and Dean knew his brother would've called for him.

But the shifter pulled Sam's head back even further – a sharp jerk that shook the kid's entire body – and slapped his hand over Sam's mouth; once again saying something.

Most likely giving orders not to yell..._or else_.

Dean sighed in frustration; wishing the picture on the screen was clearer and that there was audio to hear as the shifter continued to talk to Sam and then shook the kid again, as if he was physically emphasizing his words.

There was a few seconds of no movement on the screen before Sam hesitantly nodded.

The shifter nodded as well and released Sam with a shove; the kid stumbling forward and looking like he was going to run.

But the shifter grabbed him again; seizing Sam's upper arm and pushing the kid forward.

"Okay, enough..." Harold stated as Sam and the shifter left the school supplies aisle; his expression as hard as his tone as he paused the security footage and stared at Dean. "What the hell is going on? What did you do to your brother? And what kind of sick bastard would say their brother is missing and demand to see the security tapes knowing they would be the one to show up on the video?"

"Exactly," Carl reasonably pointed out. "Nobody incriminates themselves like that, Harold."

Harold arched an eyebrow. "So...?"

"So something else is obviously going on," Carl snapped and then glanced at Dean.

Dean stared back. "It's not me."

"I know," Carl agreed; not sure how he knew – he just did.

"And it's not my twin," Dean continued.

"I know that, too," Carl replied. "I would remember if two of you came in the store."

"So what the hell?" Harold demanded. "Because correct me if I'm wrong, but that looks _just like you_ kidnapping your own little brother." He pointed at the paused image on the television screen. "So either you're a sick sonuvabitch...or you're one hell of a stupid kid for playing a prank like this."

"I'm neither," Dean growled; resenting the implication that he would ever hurt Sam or pretend his brother was missing just for kicks.

"So what the hell?" Harold repeated.

"I can't tell you," Dean replied; knowing how well the explanation of a shifter would go over with this crowd...especially since he suspected the shifter to be sitting right in front of him; strangely quiet now that it had appeared on screen sporting Dean's face.

Stacey smiled knowingly and blinked as Dean stared at her.

Dean narrowed his eyes; because this bitch was going down as soon as he could get the other two men out of the small security office.

"Listen..." Dean began, turning his attention back to Harold. "I'll explain everything later. But right now, I need to see the other tapes. I need to know where Sam was taken, so I can find my brother. And then I'll tell you everything."

...which was a complete lie.

Because Dean was planning to gank the shifter, find Sam...and then get the hell out of town.

Harold sighed; glancing at his father as Carl nodded. "You actually believe this crap?" he asked incredulously.

"I do," Carl admitted. "I'm not sure what's going on...but I believe him. Show him the tapes."

Harold sighed again; seeming to begin to reluctantly believe Dean as well, though it confused the hell out of him.

"Fine," Harold relented and turned to cue another security tape.

"Not so fast..." Stacey finally spoke up and grasped Harold's arm; halting his reach.

Harold arched an eyebrow. "What?"

Stacey withdrew her hand; her gaze flickering between Harold and Carl. "I would like you both to leave the office now. As store manager, there's a few things I need to discuss with Dean in private about this situation."

Harold snorted at his ex-girlfriend's sudden formality. "Yeah, right," he responded and reached again for the security equipment.

"I said leave it!" Stacey snapped and stood; crossing to place herself in front of the television monitors. "Please..." she added sweetly at the shocked expression on Harold's face. "I just need a minute alone with Dean to clear up a few things to make sure Walmart is not liable for what has happened here this evening."

Harold and Carl exchanged glances.

"Fine," Carl allowed. "You're the boss," he added dryly and stood, crossing to the office door.

Harold hesitated; clearly confused – and maybe even suspicious – about Stacey's sudden change in demeanor.

"Today, Harold..." Stacey prompted and motioned toward the door; herding the security guard in that direction.

Harold nodded and followed behind his dad; glancing over his shoulder at Stacey as she closed the door behind them.

There was a beat of silence.

Dean glared as Stacey turned back to face him. "Where the hell is my brother?"

Stacey arched an eyebrow. "How would I know?"

"Because you're the one who took him, bitch."

"Please..." Stacey scoffed in dismissal of such an accusation. "Whoever took your brother looked just like _you_. We've got it on video. Which would mean – "

" – which would mean you're a shifter," Dean interrupted; not interested in playing any more games with the supernatural creature in front of him.

"Right," Stacey drawled. "Like those are real." She shook her head. "I think you're mistaken. Maybe you've watched a few too many sci-fi movies late at night."

In response, Dean pulled his knife from his boot in one swift motion; the light shining off its silver blade as he held it out toward the shifter in a threatening gesture. "Should we test my theory?"

Stacey smirked; her gaze flickering between Dean and the knife he held. "Let's not and say we did," she quipped.

Dean stared at her.

Stacey rolled her eyes. "Fine," she sighed. "You got me. Happy?"

"Not until I find my brother," Dean responded. "Where is he? What did you do to Sam?"

"Right back to the questions, huh?" Shifter Stacey pouted. "No foreplay?"

Dean glared. "I don't think you'd like my version of foreplay," he informed, glancing meaningfully at the knife he held. "Now...where the hell is my brother?" he demanded, enunciating each of his words; making it clear that he intended to kill this bitch for taking Sam.

Shifter Stacey chuckled. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she taunted and then smiled. "Poor little Sammy. All alone in the deep, dark..." She shrugged. "...somewhere."

Dean clenched his jaw.

Shifter Stacey smiled again. "He was scared, you know..." She paused. "He tried to hide it; tried to be brave and do what you would do. But he was scared. I saw it in his eyes as I tied him up. His tears were real." She paused again. "And so was his blood."

Rage – white and hot – moved through Dean like a barn on fire. "I'm gonna _fucking kill you_," he seethed and stepped forward to make good on his promise. "And if you've hurt Sam, I will resurrect your ass and kill you again," he growled; meaning every word.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch," Shifter Stacey calmly advised. "The kid was fine when I left him. Well..." She shrugged. "For the most part he was fine..." she amended and smiled; thoroughly enjoying herself in taunting Dean.

Dean glared heatedly and took another step forward.

Shifter Stacey smiled again. "You know...I gotta say I'm impressed," she commented appreciatively as Dean approached. "Truly. You and your brother...you both knew something was up within minutes of seeing me. Even when I looked like you, little Sammy knew I wasn't." She paused. "That's good, especially for a kid...which means you boys are growing up to be damn fine hunters. Papa Winchester must be proud."

Dean tilted his head at the mention of John but said nothing.

"Don't give me that look," Shifter Stacey scoffed, rolling her eyes. "We all know about Daddy John. In fact, I would venture to say that we keep track of you Winchesters about as well as you keep track of us. So, when I heard John was headed my way..."

"You decided to leave town and come here instead," Dean finished, still holding the silver knife.

Shifter Stacey shrugged. "Why sit at home and wait to be killed when you can have a little fun first? And snatching John Winchester's kid? Well...that's priceless." She paused. "But seeing the look on your face when you were watching the security footage?" She grinned. "Oh, man...it doesn't get any better than that, let me tell you..."

Dean glared; knowing he was being baited and refusing to bite. "Where's my brother?"

Shifter Stacey rolled her eyes. "You know, we could go back and forth like this all night. You asking where Sam is; me not telling you. But honestly, I'm already bored with that..."

"Then maybe I'll just kill you," Dean coldly countered and shoved one of the chairs out of the way; the furniture slamming against the far wall as he stepped closer to the shifter.

Shifter Stacey laughed. "You're adorable," she responded and was about to say more when the office door suddenly opened behind her, causing her to turn.

Recognizing his opportunity, Dean lunged forward; fully intending to stab the shifter in the heart with his silver blade – and fully prepared to deal with the consequences resulting from whoever was entering the office to witness the "murder" of who they thought was indeed Stacey.

But the shifter was smarter and quicker than that; turning back to face Dean as quickly as she had turned away and blocking the fatal wound; the silver blade slicing into the skin of her forearm instead of plunging into her chest.

As expected with a shifter, the skin sizzled upon contact with the silver and briefly smoked.

Shifter Stacey glared heatedly at Dean; her hand hovering over the gaping wound in her arm.

Behind her, Harold stood in the doorway with Carl on his heels; both men having lingered outside the office when they had been dismissed earlier and having wasted no time in reentering when they had heard the chair slam against the wall seconds before.

"What the hell?" Harold yelled at the scene that greeted him and his dad; his expression shocked as his gaze flickered between Dean and the shifter.

"He's armed!" Shifter Stacey warned; her tone instantly hysterical as she backed away from Dean like she was afraid of him. "Look!" she told the men in the doorway, showing them the knife wound on her arm. "He's crazy! He attacked me! He tried to kill me!"

Harold's expression immediately hardened. "Get behind me," he ordered Shifter Stacey and reached for his gun strapped to his side.

Dean snorted dismissively at the idiot security guard standing in front of him and lashed out again with his knife; the silver blade once again slicing into the shifter's arm...and once again producing the same results as before.

Shifter Stacey growled her annoyed displeasure and glared again at Dean as her skin sizzled and smoked.

Harold's eyes widened at the unexpected reaction; frozen in mid-reach for his weapon as he stared at his ex-girlfriend's sizzling skin. "What the – "

But the rest of his words were lost as Shifter Stacey slammed into him; knocking Harold backwards into Carl and then rushing past them; out the door of the security office and into the store, easily disappearing into the maze of aisles.

* * *

_**TBC**_


	3. Chapter 3

"Shit!" Dean hissed, still holding his knife as Shifter Stacey ran from the security office, and lunged toward the door to follow her...only to be stopped as Harold suddenly blocked his exit. "Move," he growled warningly and shoved against the larger man.

"Like hell I will!" Harold barked back. "Drop the knife."

"Like hell I will," Dean returned, tightening his grip around his weapon's handle. "That bitch took my brother!"

Harold frowned at the accusation. "Stacey?"

"That's not Stacey," Dean bluntly informed. "It's a shifter."

"A what?" Harold asked.

"You heard me," Dean snapped. "Which means the real Stacey is probably wherever my brother is. And whether or not you believe me, you know people don't smoke and sizzle when they're cut. Now let me go..." he ordered; his tone hard as he held the knife up to the security guard's face.

Harold blinked at the threatening gesture and glanced at Carl who had come to stand beside him in the doorway.

"He's right," Carl responded. "I don't know what she is, but she sure as hell ain't Stacey. Let him go."

But Dean didn't wait for Harold to relent; instead roughly pushing the security guard back and exiting the office.

"I need you to watch the security footage and tell me where she's headed," Dean told Carl; snatching the old man's walkie-talkie radio from his belt and shoving it into his hands before grabbing the radio from Harold's belt and keeping it for himself.

Carl nodded and pushed past his son; his eyes scanning the multiple television screens until he saw Stacey...or at least, the thing that looked like Stacey. "She's in housewares," he yelled out the open office door.

Dean nodded and turned; knife and radio in hand.

"Wait..." Harold called. "If Stacey's really missing, I'm coming with you."

"Then I suggest you move your ass..." Dean advised and ran in the direction Shifter Stacey had gone. "And grab that letter opener..." he added over his shoulder.

Harold frowned. "What letter opener?"

"This one," Carl replied.

Harold glanced in his father's direction just in time to catch the flying sharp object as Carl tossed it to him. "Jesus, Dad!"

"Shut up and go," Carl snapped before directing his attention back to the security video. "She's approaching sporting goods," he spoke into the radio.

"Roger," Dean's voice came back.

Carl glared over his shoulder at his son. "Go!"

Harold startled out of his daze and followed his father's order; running in the direction of sporting goods and hoping he would catch up with Dean.

A few seconds later, Harold heard his dad's voice over the radio and followed the sound of it; knowing Dean had to be nearby.

"She just went out the backdoor," Carl informed.

"Roger," Dean responded and then glanced at the end of the aisle as Harold suddenly appeared. "Backdoor," he repeated to the security guard.

Harold nodded and followed behind Dean; still gripping the letter opener Dean had told him to bring along...but not sure why. "Shouldn't I pull my gun?" he asked.

"Shut up!" Dean hissed and cut his eyes at Harold before pausing by the backdoor of the store; peering through the small window to double-check the shifter's whereabouts; having no desire to be ambushed. "Carl..." he quietly called into the radio. "Talk to me."

There was silence.

Dean frowned. "Carl..."

There was more silence and then static before Carl finally spoke. "I lost her," the old man admitted.

Dean arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry," Carl continued over the radio. "As soon as she went out the backdoor, it's like she vanished."

Dean sighed harshly. "Great," he muttered and shook his head before glancing over his shoulder at Harold and handing the radio back; no longer needing it if Carl could no longer track the shifter over the security cameras. "Get ready."

Harold nodded at the order and hooked the radio back to his belt; holding up his letter opener and feeling completely ridiculous for doing so.

"It's silver," Dean informed; knowing the security guard would be more likely to not screw up if he at least partially understood what was going on. "Or at least, I think it is..." he amended. "And silver's the only thing that works against shifters."

"Oh," Harold responded and nodded like that made perfect sense.

Dean snorted and shook his head; reminded of how weird his life was since that explanation _did _make perfect sense to him. "Alright..." he sighed. "Stay sharp."

Harold nodded once more and followed behind Dean as Dean kicked open the backdoor.

Dean froze on the loading dock and immediately surveyed the area lit by the bright lights mounted to the side of the building; his eyes crawling over every box and crate as he turned a slow circle with his knife in hand; searching for any signs of the shifter.

But here was nothing.

Nothing except...

"Oh my god..." Harold remarked; his tone indicating his shock and disgust. "What the hell is that?"

Dean stared at the heap of gooey, flesh-colored slop on the pavement and sighed. "Looks like our shifter shifted," he reported dryly.

"That's..." Harold swallowed and cringed like he didn't even have the words to describe how repulsive it was.

"Yeah," Dean agreed; staring at the pile of shed flesh – like the skin had just melted away from the shifter's frame – and then glanced over his shoulder at the security camera mounted on the side of the building; not surprised that the corner where the shifter had changed was conveniently out of the camera's range.

...which would explain why Carl had lost sight of it after it had exited the backdoor.

"Now what?" Harold asked, glancing around the loading dock.

"Good question," Dean returned, also scanning the area. "The shifter doesn't look like Stacey anymore."

Harold frowned. "Then who are we looking for?"

"Anybody," Dean responded bluntly. "The shifter can be anybody. I mean, hell...it was _me_ when it took Sam."

And Dean was never going to get over that; a supernatural creature wearing his face to harm his brother.

"So, what now?" Harold repeated.

Dean shook his head and was about to answer when he saw it – a manhole cover in the far corner.

Harold arched an eyebrow as Dean began to smile and followed Dean's gaze. "What?"

"Home sweet home," Dean informed and crossed to the corner as Harold matched his steps.

"For who?"

"Shifters," Dean replied simply.

"Huh," Harold mused, surprised by how calm he felt – as if this particular sequence of events happened every day at Walmart – and stared down at the manhole cover. "I guess we're going down, right?"

"Well, I am..." Dean responded.

Harold nodded – having expected that answer – and reached to help Dean lift the manhole cover; both men holding their weapons in one hand while removing the cover with the other.

A billow of steam and sewer gas immediately filled the air.

Harold coughed and took a step back, watching as Dean snatched the flashlight from his belt and then instantly entered the hole; climbing down the ladder with one hand while he held the flashlight under his arm and gripped his knife.

"Dude. You're like Indiana Jones..." Harold commented, not sure if Dean heard him, and waited for the splash that indicated Dean had reached the bottom of the ladder before following behind; tucking the letter opener in his pocket and climbing down into the sewer.

"Who the hell wants to live down here?" Harold asked as he joined Dean; wrinkling his nose at the sour odor that filled the tunnel; feeling the shallow water seeping into his boots.

Dean ignored the question; glancing left then right as he swung the flashlight's beam in both directions. "Okay, listen..." he began, waving the flashlight in front of Harold's face to get the security guard to focus. "The shifter could be _anywhere_ and could be _anybody_. Or there might even be several of them...I don't know. But no matter what, all shifters have the same reaction to silver. So when it doubt – "

" – cut first, ask questions later," Harold finished, once again gripping the letter opener and remembering what had happened when Dean had cut the shifter back in the security office.

Dean quirked a smile. "Very good," he praised and then turned; shining the flashlight's beam down the tunnel. "Let's go. Stay close, stay alert, and stay quiet. We don't need to announce we're coming any more than we already have."

Harold nodded his understanding and followed; feeling a rush of adrenaline.

Because while this was definitely one of the most bizarre days he had ever had at work, it was also turning out to be one of the most awesome.

Several minutes passed.

The sewer tunnel twisted and turned the deeper they went and eventually led to a drier area; the concrete still damp but no longer wet with standing water.

Harold sighed; wanting to ask how much further they had to walk but not daring to open his mouth; knowing he was older than Dean but still feeling intimidated; knowing that as strange as it seemed, Dean was the one with more experience in this situation.

So, Harold continued to follow in silence.

More minutes passed before Dean suddenly stopped; sensing Sam was close even before the flashlight illuminated the kid sitting on to top of several stacked crates.

"Sammy..." Dean murmured in relief and immediately crossed to his brother.

Sam blinked in the beam of the flashlight as Dean approached; his mouth gagged; his ankles tied; his hands secured behind his back; and several loops of rope securing his small body to the massive pipe he was sitting against on the crates.

"Sam..." Dean called again – so incredibly thankful to see the kid – and motioned for Harold. "Come hold this..." he ordered and handed over the flashlight.

Harold took it; standing beside Dean and shining the light on Sam.

Sam immediately squinted; grunting as he turned away.

"Not in his face!" Dean snapped and resisted the urge to punch the security guard. "He's traumatized enough without you blinding him. Jesus..."

"Sorry," Harold quietly apologized and readjusted his grip; lowering the flashlight's beam.

Sam cautiously turned back to face them; watching them warily.

"It's okay," Dean assured and reached to remove the gag from his brother's mouth as his eyes scanned Sam's face; instantly feeling his anger return.

Because the shifter had obviously knocked the kid around as evidenced by the blood streaked across Sam's forehead and down his temple along with the swollen, bruised knot that had already formed beneath the torn skin at the point of impact.

Dean sighed harshly and then paused when Sam flinched away from his touch; the kid's eyes wide and scared as he wordlessly stared at Dean.

But Sam's expression said it all.

Dean felt his heart twist; hating the shifter even more for causing his little brother to be afraid of him. "Sammy. It's me, kiddo," he soothed. "You know it's me. Right?"

Sam nodded hesitantly; knowing the person in front of him was indeed his brother but unable to shake his lingering fear at the sight of him.

Because the last time he saw Dean – or the shifter that had looked like Dean – Sam had been dragged out of the store and pushed down in the sewer, had been knocked unconscious, and had woken up alone in the damp darkness; tied to a massive pipe while listening to the hiss of other pipes and to the squeaks of rats as the rodents had splashed through the tunnel's puddles.

Sam glanced at the man holding the flashlight; vaguely wondering if he was a second shifter.

"Sam..." Dean called, attracting his brother's attention before carefully easing the gag from the kid's mouth; dropping the torn, dirty fabric to the floor.

Sam breathed deeply through his mouth – just because he finally could – and then swallowed and blinked.

Dean frowned. "Talk to me, Sammy," he urged; knowing he needed to free his brother from his bonds so they could find the real Stacey and get the hell out of the sewer...but hesitant to do so until the kid snapped out his shocked daze.

But Sam just continued to blink at him; clearly studying Dean for signs that he was really his big brother and not the shifter back for Round #2.

Dean sighed. "Okay, kiddo..." he allowed, deciding he would give Sam time to sort things out. "I'm gonna cut you loose now..." he warned, showing Sam the knife before slicing the ropes behind his brother; freeing the kid's body and hands from the pipe.

In response, Sam immediately sprang forward; almost falling off the crates he still sat on as he threw himself against Dean; wrapping his skinny arms around his brother and holding on tight.

"Whoa..." Dean commented at the unexpected reaction but held the knife away from Sam and regained his footing; quickly returning his brother's hug. "It's okay, Sammy," he whispered, rubbing the kid's back in silent comfort. "You're okay now. I'm here."

Sam nodded; his bony chin digging into Dean's shoulder before he inhaled shakily and pushed back to stare at his brother with misty eyes. "Dean..."

"I know," Dean soothed. "It's a shifter. But it's okay," he repeated, knowing Sam needed the reassurance, and then lightly touched the bloody bump on his brother's head. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Sam swallowed and glanced down. "My ankle hurts. I think I sprained it when the shifter pushed me down the ladder."

Dean clenched his jaw – having yet another reason to kill the shifter – and turned his attention to his brother's ankle; carefully slicing through the ropes that still bound the kid's feet.

Harold adjusted the direction of the flashlight's beam; shining the light on Sam's right ankle as Dean rolled down the cuff of Sam's sock and gently palpated the swollen skin.

Harold cringed at the inflamed, bluish-purple flesh. "Ouch..." he hissed as Sam flinched. "That looks bad."

Dean cut his eyes at the security guard. "Nobody asked you."

Sam winced in pain and then glanced at Harold; blinking expectantly.

Harold smiled. "Hi. I'm Harold, Walmart's security guard."

Dean snorted at the lame introduction. "We're all very impressed," he commented dryly and then pulled Sam's sock up before looking at his brother. "It's definitely sprained, Sammy. No way you're walking out of here."

Sam nodded his agreement; because his ankle _hurt_.

"Want me to carry him?" Harold asked helpfully.

Dean scowled but didn't answer; his expression speaking for itself – that Harold would be sorry if he reached for Sam.

Sam laughed softly; knowing his brother's thoughts and being incredibly thankful to be back with the real Dean. "I missed you," he said quietly, not even realizing he had spoken that thought aloud until Dean looked at him.

Sam smiled shyly and ducked his head.

Dean returned the smile. "Same here, kiddo," he told his little brother – even though they had only be separated for an hour or so – and affectionately squeezed the back of the kid's neck.

Harold smiled as well; unexpectedly touched by the brothers' interaction.

There was a beat of silence.

"Now...enough of you making me act like a girl," Dean teased and nudged Sam's shoulder. "We need to get the hell out of here before the shifter comes back."

Sam nodded.

"What about Stacey?" Harold asked, glancing around the sewer tunnel as if he expected to see her.

Dean glanced at Sam. "Sammy. Did the shifter bring anybody else down here?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted and carefully rubbed at the drying blood on his forehead. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Dean responded; even though he was freshly pissed at the realization of why Sam didn't know – because the kid had been knocked out.

"Well, she's got to be down here somewhere," Harold insisted. "You said – "

" – I know what I said," Dean interrupted; knowing it was the right thing to do but annoyed that he had to save someone else now when all he really wanted to do was get Sam out and take care of the kid.

Sam shifted uncomfortably as he continued to sit on the stacked crates; wincing as he once again touched his head.

Dean frowned. "What's wrong?"

Sam shrugged. "My head just hurts. And my ankle..."

Dean nodded and sighed; glancing at Harold and preparing to speak when another voice called out in the darkness.

"Hello?"

Harold immediately swung the flashlight's beam toward the voice deeper in the sewer tunnel. "Stace?"

"Harold?" the voice called back.

Harold glanced over his shoulder at Dean. "That's her."

"You _think_ it's her," Dean corrected. "It could be the shifter again."

"Harold?" the voice called once more.

"Yeah," Harold answered the voice and then glanced back at Dean. "That's her," he insisted. "I know it." He paused and nodded at Sam. "Just like the kid knew you weren't the shifter this time."

Dean sighed, unable to argue against that logic; because sometimes you did indeed just know, especially when you loved somebody.

"Fine," Dean relented. "But if she so much as looks at me wrong, I will stab her in the heart," he warned; still remembering Shifter Stacey's smug smirk as she had taunted him about Sam.

Harold's eyes widened. "Um...yeah. Okay..."

Dean nodded and then looked at his brother. "Sammy..."

Sam returned the nod; not needing any other words from his brother to know the plan.

Dean smiled. "Just like old times...right, kiddo?" he asked as he crouched and felt Sam climb onto his back.

"Mmhmm," Sam agreed; concentrating on not accidently jarring his injured ankle as he wrapped himself around his brother.

"You ready?" Dean checked; feeling Sam's arms around his neck and helping to support the kid's legs with one hand while still holding the knife in the other.

Sam nodded; his bony chin once again digging into Dean's shoulder.

Dean glanced at Harold. "Let's go."

Harold nodded and directed the flashlight down the tunnel as they walked. "We're coming, Stace..." he called as they approached.

"Who's 'we'?" Stacey asked, sounding confused and then blinking up as the answer revealed itself. "Oh."

Harold smiled as his ex-girlfriend stared at the strangers standing beside him. "Stace, this is Dean and Sam. They're customers."

"Oh," Stacey repeated as Harold crouched and began cutting the ropes that bound her. "I saw you earlier," she told Sam. "When that _thing_ brought me down here, we passed right by you. But you were unconscious. Are you okay?"

Sam nodded; clinging to Dean's back and not feeling very talkative.

"He'll be fine," Dean assured the store manager. "Just as soon as we get the hell out of here..."

"Amen to that," Stacey heartily agreed and allowed Harold to pull her to her feet. "Does anybody know what the hell is going on?"

"There's a shifter among us," Harold announced dramatically, like he was an expert on the subject.

"A shifter?" Stacey repeated. "Like a shapeshifter? For real?"

Dean chuckled. "For real," he confirmed.

"Huh," Stacey mused and rubbed her sore wrists; her skin raw from the ropes. "Well, I guess that explains it..."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "Explains what?"

Stacey sighed. "I thought I was going crazy," she told them. "I was back at the break room and came out of the stall in the women's bathroom. And there was..." She shook her head, still not believing it. "There was _me_."

"Whoa," Harold commented. "Freaky."

"Yeah," Stacey agreed dryly. "To say the least. Then the next thing I know, I'm being grabbed by..._myself..._and shoved out the backdoor, down the loading dock, and down into this sewer."

"Sounds about right for a shifter," Dean agreed and felt Sam sigh against his back; the kid clearly exhausted and in pain and beyond ready to go home. "Alright, enough talking. Let's get the hell out of here. Unless you saw somebody else...?"

Stacey shook her head. "No. Just him," she responded and stared at the blood on Sam's forehead as the kid continued to rest on his brother's back. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," Sam replied quietly, even though his head and ankle throbbed with his heartbeat. "Are you okay?"

Stacey smiled; touched that Sam was obviously injured and shaken yet still concerned about her. "I'm fine."

"That's a relief," Harold told her and smoothed her tangled hair from her face.

Stacey's smile widened at both Harold's words and his touch.

"Is he your boyfriend?" Sam suddenly asked with the curiosity of a 12-year old.

Stacey laughed lightly. "Maybe," she responded.

Harold blinked at the announcement. "Really?" he asked; his tone surprised but hopeful.

"Maybe," Stacey repeated.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Alright, enough of that crap. I'm getting my brother out of here, and you two lovebirds are welcome to join us. But move your asses..." He glanced at Harold. "And be ready."

Harold sobered at the reminder about lurking danger in the sewer and nodded; once again holding out his letter opener.

"What the hell are you gonna do with that?" Stacey asked as they started walking; retracing their steps in the sewer tunnel to return to the ladder.

"It's silver," Harold reported proudly. "It's the only thing that works against shifters."

Stacey nodded, adequately impressed that Harold knew that, and kept walking beside her maybe-boyfriend as they followed the brothers through the sewer tunnel.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean checked; feeling the kid begin to sag as Sam's arms loosened their hold around his neck.

"Yeah," Sam agreed quietly. "Just tired. And my head hurts."

Dean nodded, having expected that report. "How 'bout your ankle?"

"That, too," Sam added. "Can we..."

But his voice trailed off as his gaze focused further down the tunnel.

Dean frowned at his brother's sudden silence but then realized why; narrowing his eyes at what he saw at the far end of the tunnel toward the ladder.

"That's him," Sam whispered; his voice impossibly quiet...and scared. "Or _it..._whatever. But it's – "

" – I know," Dean soothed; proud of his little brother for spotting the shifter so far away; the kid hurt, tired, and traumatized...but still a hunter at heart. "It's okay, Sammy."

Sam said nothing; but Dean could feel the kid's small body tremble as his little brother continued to ride on his back.

"We got company," Dean announced quietly, alerting Harold and Stacey to potential trouble ahead.

Harold shifted behind Dean, angling for a better view, and then blinked. "What the hell is my dad doing down here?"

Dean shook his head as they continued to walk; readjusting his hold on his brother and his grip on his knife. "I doubt that's your dad."

Harold frowned. "Why?"

"Just trust me..." Dean responded; because sometimes it was hard to explain a hunter's instinct to a non-hunter.

But Dean had been expecting this meeting; had known they would probably not escape the sewer without some type of run-in with the shifter.

"It looks like dad from here," Harold countered still staring down the tunnel.

"Seriously?" Dean asked incredulously as he stopped walking. "You're using that argument in this situation?"

Harold cringed and shrugged at the reprimand; not used to dealing with shifters as Dean apparently was. "Guess not."

"Why did we stop?"

Dean glanced at Stacey as she spoke. "Because you and Sam are waiting here," he replied and glanced over his shoulder at his brother as Sam clung to him. "Sammy. I need you to stay here with Stacey for a few minutes while me and Harold go handle this situation."

Sam shook his head; knowing the potential danger. "No, Dean..."

"I'll be fine," Dean assured and carefully eased his brother off his back. "Stacey..."

Stacey nodded and stepped forward; lightly grasping Sam's shoulders and holding the wobbly kid steady as Sam balanced on one leg beside her.

"Dean..." Sam tried again.

"Be right back," Dean responded casually to his brother and then nodded at Harold.

Harold returned the nod and fell in beside Dean as they continued walking down the sewer tunnel, leaving Stacey and Sam behind them.

Shifter Carl approached from the opposite end of the tunnel, smiling.

"Remember..." Dean advised Harold, tightening his grip on the knife he held. "That's not your dad."

"Yeah," Harold agreed; still holding the letter opener and hoping he wouldn't be forced to use it...especially on some creature that was wearing his father's face.

"Hey..." Shifter Carl pleasantly greeted as he stopped in the tunnel and allowed Dean and Harold to advance toward him. "I see you two found Sam and Stacey."

"We did," Dean confirmed but said nothing more.

Shifter Carl's gaze looked beyond his son and the hunter. "Good. They look okay for the most part."

Dean arched an eyebrow at that phrasing; remembering how the shifter had said something similar when it had been disguised as Stacey and was taunting him about Sam's condition.

_For the most part he was fine..._

"Yeah. They seem okay," Harold agreed nervously.

Shifter Carl nodded. "So why are they all the way down there?"

"Sam needed to rest," Dean replied smoothly; his smile tight; his expression hard.

"I see..." Shifter Carl responded; his gaze flickering between Dean and Harold like he knew the jig was up.

"What are you doing down here, Dad?"

Dean glanced at Harold as he spoke; surprised but proud that the security guard would ask such a casual, normal question to keep up the pretense.

Shifter Carl shrugged. "Well, when I didn't hear back from you boys on the radio, I thought I'd come see if I could help out. Make sure you hadn't run into trouble..."

"That's nice," Dean praised and smiled again; then immediately let the smile drop. "But we didn't tell you we were coming down to the sewer. The last you heard on the radio, we were just exiting the backdoor."

"True," Shifter Carl agreed, having expected that argument. "But when I came out on the loading dock, I saw the open manhole cover and just – "

" – and just assumed we were down here," Harold finished; coldly staring at the creature in front of him.

"Exactly," Shifter Carl replied and smiled; his gaze once again flickering to Sam and Stacey at the far end of the tunnel.

Dean glanced at Harold, subtly nodding his cue.

Harold returned the nod and swallowed.

In the next instant, both lunged forward; Harold slicing Shifter Carl's arm to test for a reaction...and Dean plunging his silver knife into the shifter's chest when the cut from the letter opener predictably sizzled and smoked.

The shifter's body twitched under Dean's knife; its face grimacing in a twisted smile before its eyes dipped closed, and its body slumped in Dean's grasp.

Dean stared at the dead creature – thinking he should probably be disturbed by the cold satisfaction he felt – and jerked his knife from the shifter's chest; allowing its body to fall with a splash to the shallow water that once again covered the tunnel's floor.

Harold stared in fascinated detachment at what appeared to be the dead body of his father...even though he knew it wasn't. "Where's my dad?" he asked Dean.

Dean wiped the blade of his knife on the shifter's sleeve. "Probably still in the security office where we left him," he replied confidently and turned; walking back down the tunnel and back to his brother.

Sam smiled and sighed shakily as Dean approached; feeling weak with fatigue and overwhelming relief that his brother was okay...but also feeling energized by how incredibly awesome his big brother was.

Dean smiled at Sam. "Told you I'd be right back..."

Sam nodded and relaxed into Dean's arms as his brother took him from Stacey's grasp.

"You okay?" Dean checked, holding the kid steady against him as Sam continued to balance on one leg.

"Yeah," Sam responded. "But can we please go home now?"

Dean chuckled. "Best idea I've heard all night," he told his brother and handed his knife to Harold as the security guard stood behind him. "Here, fellow Shifter Slayer. Man the knife. I've got a kid brother to carry."

Dean winked at Sam and then smiled at Harold.

Harold laughed. "Thanks," he replied and glanced at Stacey as she slipped her arm through his and smiled up at him; the status of maybe-boyfriend instantly morphing to definitely.

Dean quirked a smile at the scene and squeezed Sam's shoulder. "Let's go, kiddo..." he called and crouched; helping Sam climb on his back and looping his arms under the kid's legs, careful not to jar Sam's injured right ankle.

A few minutes later, they were at the ladder again; the bright lights from the store's loading dock shining down into the darkness of the sewer.

"Who's first?" Harold asked, staring up the open manhole.

"You and Stacey," Dean answered and once again lowered Sam to the ground. "After you two are up, you can help me with Sam."

Harold nodded at that plan and gave the knife back to Dean before climbing up the ladder.

Dean watched him go; returning the knife to his boot with one hand while holding Sam steady with the other as the kid stood on one leg.

After Harold climbed out, Dean nodded at Stacey. "Your turn."

Stacey returned the nod and followed Harold up the ladder and out of the sewer.

Dean sighed and glanced at his brother. "Sammy..."

"I know," Sam agreed and held onto the ladder as Dean crouched low enough for Sam to climb onto his shoulders.

"Ready?" Dean asked.

"Ready," Sam returned and wobbled slightly on his brother's shoulders as Dean stood up.

"Be careful up there," Dean warned and slowly started climbing the ladder. "I hope we never have to do this when you get older and bigger..." he remarked; his shoulders and neck already hurting.

"Yeah," Sam agreed quietly; concentrating on his part of this deal – his hands grabbing each rung and helping to ease himself up the ladder.

The process was slow – especially since Sam was tired and especially since Dean was being careful not to accidently hit the kid's injured ankle as they climbed; but within a few minutes, they had reached the top.

"Take him," Dean called up to Harold and Stacey. "But he careful with him," he warned sharply. "Don't hurt him."

Sam smiled; always feeling loved and protected when Dean fussed over him, even if he usually acted like he was annoyed by his big brother's motherhenning.

"We've got him," Harold told Dean as he and Stacey both crouched by the manhole and reached for Sam; carefully pulling the kid up.

Dean quickly followed; Sam hardly putting his uninjured foot on the ground before Dean was there to pick the kid back up.

Sam grunted as he climbed on Dean's back again.

"Dude..." Harold commented as he and Stacey slid the manhole cover back in place. "What a night."

Stacey laughed at the understatement and straightened to her full height before focusing on the Dean. "Thank you."

Dean shrugged; feeling Sam shift on his back with the movement. "You're welcome. Just doing my job."

Stacey arched an eyebrow and then narrowed her eyes. "I probably don't want to know what your job is, do I?"

"No," Dean confirmed and shook his head. "Ignorance is bliss. Trust me."

Stacey nodded her agreement and glanced at Harold. "Shall we?" she invited and motioned toward the illuminated backdoor.

"Absolutely," Harold heartily agreed and led the way.

Several seconds later, they were back in Walmart; other employees and a few of the lingering customers giving curious looks to the tattered-looking group as they passed by them on their way to the front of the store.

"Dad..." Harold called as they approached the security office and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Carl still sitting in front of the security monitors.

Carl turned at the sound of his son's voice and stood. "Well, it's about damn time..." he groused and crossed to meet the group in the doorway. "I kept trying to call you on the radio."

Harold shrugged. "Guess there was no signal down in the sewer."

"The sewer?" Carl echoed. "What the hell?"

"Long story," Stacey told him and shook her head, still holding onto Harold's arm. "The important thing is that the shifter is dead, and we're all fine."

"And together," Harold added.

Carl arched an eyebrow and nodded his approval of the apparently rekindled relationship between Harold and Stacey before glancing at Dean and Sam standing behind the happy couple.

"You two okay?" Carl asked the kids and frowned when he saw the blood on Sam's head.

"He's okay," Dean assured. "I'll take care of him."

Carl smiled. "I've got no doubt about that," he answered confidently.

Dean returned the smile and shifted his brother's weight on his back. "Well...we're heading out. As always, Walmart has made the evening exciting and memorable."

Stacey laughed. "Never a dull moment," she agreed dryly and then smiled. "Again, thank you. And if there's anything we can do..."

Dean shook his head. "We'll be fine," he replied. "Good night..."

"Good night," Sam echoed to them and tightened his grip around his brother's neck as Dean turned from the doorway of the security office and exited the building.

Sam sighed and shivered in the night air as they crossed the parking lot.

Dean frowned at the reminder that his brother was wearing damp clothes and unlocked the Impala's driver's side door.

"What's the plan?" Sam asked as he was eased to his feet and then climbed into the car.

"Wait a minute..." Dean called distractedly and crossed to the trunk; quickly assembling a makeshift icepack with their stash of plastic baggies and cooler full of ice before grabbing one of their blankets as well.

Sam waited patiently on the bench seat and glanced at Dean as he returned.

"Here..."

Sam blinked at what was suddenly shoved at him but took the icepack with the towel wrapped around it; smiling to himself because he would've bet money that Dean would have done this – assembled an icepack – before they even left the parking lot.

"And this..." Dean added, tossing the blanket at Sam. "I didn't rescue you from a shifter just to have you catch pneumonia."

Sam snorted at the exaggeration. "I'm not _that_ wet," he defended. "And the motel isn't that far away..."

"It's at least half an hour from here."

"Well, yeah...but – "

Dean glared; indicating the issue was not open for discussion.

Sam sighed. "Fine," he agreed and accepted the blanket. "What's the plan?" he asked again, figuring they were leaving town within the hour after what had happened tonight.

"Home, shower, first aid, bedtime," Dean outlined and slid behind the wheel; cranking the Impala's ignition and glancing at Sam. "Lean against me, take off your shoe, and prop your leg on the seat," he told his brother. "I want that ice on your ankle, not in your hands. Your ankle already looks bad enough."

Sam nodded – because his ankle was definitely sore – and did as he was told; taking off his shoe and resituating himself on the bench seat until his back was leaning against Dean's shoulder and his right leg was stretched into the passenger seat.

"Are we switching motels?" Sam asked as he carefully positioned the icepack on his throbbing ankle and then hissed at the sudden coldness.

"No," Dean replied; figuring the shifter was probably telling the truth earlier – that the supernatural tracked the Winchesters as well and as accurately as the Winchesters tracked the supernatural – and deciding he didn't want to haul his injured, exhausted little brother several miles away now.

They would be fine through the night and would just move on tomorrow; a few days earlier than expected.

"Okay," Sam agreed to Dean's plan; too tired to ask why they weren't leaving town tonight; figuring Dean knew best because he usually did.

"Cover up with that blanket, Sam..." Dean motherhenned and then switched the Impala's gears; slightly adjusting the heat before easing the Chevy out of the parking lot and back onto the highway, heading toward their motel.

There was silence.

Sam sighed, pulling the blanket closer. "Are we gonna tell Dad?" he asked, settling more fully against his brother.

"I don't know," Dean responded, because he hadn't decided that part yet. "We need to tell him about the shifter being dead. And we're gonna have to tell him something to explain your bruised noggin and sprained ankle."

Sam nodded. "Maybe we'll think of something else," he suggested vaguely; not wanting his brother to get in trouble because Dean had left him alone in the store.

Dean quirked a smile; knowing exactly what Sam was thinking and loving the kid all the more for it.

_It's you and me against the world. _

"Yeah, maybe..." Dean agreed about telling John something else besides the truth about Sam's injuries.

"And what about the supplies we didn't get?" Sam pressed.

Dean shrugged. "We'll worry about that later. But for now..." he glanced at his brother as the kid leaned against him. "How do you feel? I know your ankle must be throbbing like a bitch, but how's your head?"

"The same," Sam answered and smiled tiredly. "But I'm okay."

Dean smiled at his tough little brother and at the typical Winchester insistence that no matter what physical injury had been sustained...everything was okay.

And Dean guessed that was true – that everything was okay...as long as they were together.

There was silence in the Impala as her engine rumbled down the highway.

"Hey, Sam..." Dean called; nudging his brother as the kid sat beside him on the bench seat.

"Hmm..." Sam hummed; feeling himself growing sleepier with every mile.

"Did the shifter say anything to you?" Dean asked; because he knew how shifters worked and didn't want his brother poisoned by lies or twisted truths; the idea of such worrying him more than he wanted to admit. "Sammy..."

"No," Sam answered and shifted on the seat. He paused. "He just said that...that if I didn't come with him or if I yelled and made a scene, then he would kill you."

Dean swallowed at the news and clenched his jaw; nodding tightly and understanding why Sam had remained silent while the shifter had led the kid away earlier.

Sam sighed; the shaky sound indicating he was still upset by the threat and by what had happened.

"It's okay now," Dean told his brother.

"I know," Sam agreed but sighed again.

There was silence.

Dean hesitated, not wanting to push the kid to talk about something that was clearly upsetting...but still wanting to know one more thing before he let the issue drop for the night.

Dean sighed. "Hey, Sam...when the shifter approached you in the store wearing my face, how did you know it wasn't me?"

Sam smiled as if he had been expecting that question. "I just did," he responded; glancing up at his brother as he continued to rest against Dean's shoulder.

Dean arched an eyebrow at the simple answer. "That's it?"

Sam nodded. "Yep. I mean...you would've known if it wasn't me."

"Damn right," Dean agreed heartily; although the thought of a shifter taking on his little brother's likeness made him feel physically sick.

"Well, there you go..." Sam replied as though that explained everything and then yawned before adding, "There's only one _you_, Dean."

Dean smiled at his brother's words; swallowing against the knot of emotion they brought forth; the kid's simple assertion somehow being explanation enough and the message being as clear as if Sam had said it aloud – I love you; I trust you; I _know_ you.

Dean swallowed again. "Back at 'cha, kiddo," he responded genuinely and then affectionately nudged Sam's head as it rested on his shoulder.

Because out of all the things in Dean's life, Sam was the only thing that was irreplaceable; the only thing he would literally die for if it meant saving.

Sam sighed and closed his eyes; allowing Dean's proximity and the Impala's rumble – both comfortingly familiar – lull him into a light sleep.

Dean glanced at his brother as he felt Sam lean more heavily against him – knowing the kid was dozing after one hell of a night – and then eased his arm more fully around Sam; holding his little brother close as they headed home together.

* * *

_**FIN**_


End file.
